Stories. Thoughts. Opinions.

Post navigation

Back to Crazy, Please

I realize that I’m jealous of crazy people. Not your actual morbidly crazy, the I’m-in-an-institution-crazy, but just the garden-variety creative crazy. You know, those who have creative jobs, walk around wearing whatever they please, saying whatever they feel with a child-like innocence coupled with a What? I’m totally creative. I can’t be contained kind of attitude.

I could have been that way once.

But when I was growing up, a restriction on funds made practicality an essential in all future plans. Couple that with a troubled parent who struggled with substances and a whole hell of a lot of other emotional problems, and my imaginary friends, like Larden, the blond-haired quiet boy, receded as I began to excel at control, control, control.

Words got carefully checked before exit, rules were adhered to meticulously and I gradually stopped being a kiddie nutjob who expressed every emotion immediately and saw fairies everywhere.

And then I got interested in how the world works, how humans behave and I put away the mental toys and traded them for tools instead. It wasn’t all bad and I learned a lot and I don’t have too many regrets because I know that it went that way for a reason and I really don’t see any other path I could have taken.

But here I am today, back to writing fiction, something I gave up a looong time ago and I find that I’d love to have more crazy in my life. This calm under pressure, these systems I have in place work with precision. I sit across from you at the conference table in my black suit and you probably wouldn’t know I spend my nights doing this – writing scenes and talking to the people in my head.

Periodically I watch Mommy Dearest because I love to see Faye Dunaway just lose her shit for the umpteenth time. Ok, maybe she’s not the creative I mentioned earlier but even the freedom to scream Don’t fuck with me fellas! This ain’t my first time in the rodeo! ­–would be utter heaven.

After I get home, it takes about two hours to shuck off the day and become me again. And then I don’t know what it will take after that to shuck off the rest – but I’m practicing, word by word, thought by thought and someday I hope to reunite with the crazy I left behind.